


You're Younger Than I Am Broken

by Dividedpoet



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comfort, Flashback, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Reality check
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dividedpoet/pseuds/Dividedpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"</i>Stevie.<i>" Not the Winter Soldier. Not some assassin. His Bucky. That's all it takes for Steve to shut the door, deposit the groceries on the kitchen table, and be at Bucky's feet. "Don't know which way's up," he says, tone wrought with bitter amusement and eyes full of...Steve isn't sure. Fear? Pain? Sorrow?</i></p><p>  <i>"I know you don't, Buck," he says quietly, hands settling on Bucky’s knees. Steve feels the tremors under his skin.</i></p><p>Post-TWS Bucky/Steve Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Younger Than I Am Broken

**Author's Note:**

> A little post-TWS Bucky/Steve oneshot that wouldn't leave my head. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title credit goes to FKA twigs.
> 
> This is an unbeta'd work so if you have any constructive criticism or notice any discrepancies please feel free to let me know. <3

He's been here before. He can taste it like ash in his mouth. Like hope. 

_...bone crunches beneath knuckles padded only by the leather of his glove as he works his way through the compound. He's running on autopilot at this point, a desire to do something to balance out the ache in his chest. Part of him knows the blind determination is unhealthy, but he ignores that. It won't help him. Blind determination is the only reason his limbs are still moving..._

_...eyes scan the makeshift operating room and land on a figure in the middle. Bucky. Its as if someone lets the air back in, because Bucky is_ right there _. His head spins with questions, his already curious mind heightened as well by the serum. Hard eyes catch his and Steve has a difficult time thinking past joy, ache, and hope..._

_…”I don’t know which way’s up, pal,” Bucky shakes his head, nightmares having sent him curling in the corner of the tent. "He gave me things, things I wanted, images...you, he always gave me you."_

_Steve sinks to the floor and slides sturdy arms around Bucky's shaking body. "Did he give you our sophomore trip to the Bronx zoo?" Steve whispers fiercely against the side of Bucky's face, lips dragging against stubble. "Snuck off into the reptile habitat for two hours. Do you remember that?" Bucky's shaking harder now. Steve settles fingers on his jaw, turning his face so their eyes meet. "I'm real, Buck. Flesh and blood and right here. Zola didn't have that memory and he didn't give you this-"_

_Bucky's mouth is on his._

_Fingers follow behind his zipper, down, sliding uniform fabric from newly broadened shoulders. They haven't done this since they were kids in that reptile habitat, awkward teenagers that only knew touch felt like home and safety in a way home never did. Before death and dancing, before war and the serum. They aren't kids now. No, now they're grown men hardened by loss, fear, anger -_

_"_ Steve. _" The gasp urges Steve forward because this is a loss that he un-_ lost _and all he can think to do is swallow him up before he disappears again. Steve pushes Bucky onto his back. "You damn punk."_

_They don't have time, they don't. They're supposed to be sleeping. The soontobe Howling Commandoes and others from the rescued units set up temporary camp when they realized they couldn't make it back to the base before nightfall, it wasn't safe. Their shift is in an hour. But Steve has to make sure Bucky knows he's real..._

Steve shakes his head, groceries all but forgotten in his hand. Because Bucky is sitting on the couch in his apartment staring up at him all long dirty hair, scraggly beard, and stolen clothing.

" _Stevie._ " Not the Winter Soldier. Not some assassin. His Bucky. That's all it takes for Steve to shut the door, deposit the groceries on the kitchen table, and be at Bucky's feet. "Don't know which way's up," he says, tone wrought with bitter amusement and eyes full of...Steve isn't sure. Fear? Pain? Sorrow?

"I know you don't, Buck," he says quietly, hands settling on Bucky’s knees. Steve feels the tremors under his skin.

“Thought I could figure it out. No ones in my head anymore making me forget; thought I could make sense of it all. But there’s too much. Too-” Bucky flinches back, as if away from something painful, and Steve feels a weight settle in his gut.

“Buck-” he starts, approaching the question he doesn’t know how to phrase.

“Can’t make sense of it,” Bucky says, like he can feel Steve’s discomfort. “It’s jumbled, too loud and too bright.” Metal fingers come to rest on Steve’s cheek with a softness he finds surprising “Except you. I remember you. I remember…” He trails off and Steve’s mouth is dry as he waits for the next words. When they come Bucky's broken tone hits him, ice cold. "You rescued me, didn't you?" His voice is small, confusion in every syllable. "Before I was back with Zola? That footage in the museum, that's real?"

Steve stares at Bucky, words fighting for purchase in his head. Bucky starts to drop his hand and Steve grabs it, holding it against his face. "Yeah, it's real and you did lots. We fought together, side by side, and you were a _good_ man. You are a--" Bucky shakes his head and Steve breaks off.

He pulls his hand from Steve's face, his grip, and Steve feels the loss somewhere in his ribcage. "Don't. I'm lost here, pal, but--" The way he rolls his eyes is so reminiscent of the man Steve used to know that it makes a fresh ache blossom in his chest. "I've got a lot to answer for. You just," he pauses and he's shaking again. "You just have to tell me this is real. I can't close my eyes, Steve. I can't close them. Every time I try I know I'm gonna wake up frozen, or in that damn chair, or on that table. I just want-"

Steve's lips press firmly to Bucky's, silencing his increasingly panicked words. It's just a simple close mouthed kiss but when Steve pulls back he doesn't go far, resting his forehead against Bucky's. "I'm real, Buck. Flesh and blood and right here," he says, echoing his words from so many years before. Apparently it's what the other man needs to hear because he sags forward, resting his weight on Steve.

Steve tries not to find comfort in it, because Bucky still smells like Bucky underneath everything but, this man in his arms is a shell. It doesn't stop them from pressing their bodies close in sleep; curled together like when they were boys trying to keep out the winter chill, muscles and skin recognizing each other on a visceral level. 

During the night Steve wakes to find Bucky in the bathroom with a pair of scissors, chopping away intermittently at the hair on his head and the growth on his face, both of which are still damp from the much needed shower Steve had encouraged Bucky to take before they laid down. "He doesn't- _I_ can't see..." Steve slips the scissors out of his grasp and presses a warm palm against Bucky's bare shoulder to guide him back. "That face is wrong."

"I know," Steve says softly. "It's okay," the pressure of Steve's hand guides Bucky to the closed toilet seat. "It's okay, I'll fix you up right." He combs what's left of Bucky's damp hair back with the fingers of his free hand. "No dame'll be able to take her eyes off you." 

Bucky's gaze catches his and Steve is stuck, suddenly trembling hand frozen in nearly entirely unmatted hair. Warm fingers wrap around his wrist. "Don't want any of them, Stevie." Steve stands there for a few moments, sinking, before he shakes his head and steps back. Bucky follows him, crowding him against the door, eyes still fixed.

"Bucky - " Steve begins. 

Bucky shakes his head. "I've been dreaming about you for 40 years," there's no pretense in his tone, its smooth and honest. Steve shivers. It doesn't matter that the man in front of him look ridiculous with missing chunks of hair, his eyes still burn the same. 

With a shaky sigh Steve presses a hand against Bucky's chest and slips sideways to free himself from the doorframe. "I think it might be better if I - "

Bucky steps with Steve. "No Steve, please don't leave. Please. Just - " And his mouth is against Steve's. The kiss is almost innocent with the way Bucky has leaned in, no other body parts touch. It's the heavy breathing that belies the intensity of the moment. He pulls away, eyes searching Steve's for permission. Steve knows Bucky wants permission, he doesn't want to take anything from anyone else but he wants so badly -

It's Steve this time that surges forward, lips attaching to lips and fingers grasping at skin before he drops to his knees. Bucky gasps. "Shhh," Steve presses sloppy kisses to Bucky's hipbone above the borrowed sweatpants. "You can relax now, Buck." He pulls the draw string, "I've got you."

When Steve hurds Bucky into the bathroom later with an electric razor Bucky looks nervously at the tool. Seeing the apprehension Steve smooths a hand over Bucky's cheek. "Won't take a minute, Buck, and you'll - "

"Be ready for all the dames?" Bucky interrupts, shaky half smile directed at Steve's collarbone before he glances up.

When he does Steve shakes his head, eyes dark and jaw set. "No dames." The following words hang in the air, unspoken but present, _Just me._

Bucky nods. "Better get to it then."


End file.
